But this is something I can do: say no. Voice an emphatic "no."
Things I'm Not Going to Do Anymore:
1. Qualify my musical tastes by selling out my gender.
Example: "Her songs are really girly, but she's very talented...." That goes for my current favorites, especially, but not limited to: Sara Bareilles, The Blow, and The Pierces. If it's chick music, FANTASTIC. Better, in fact, than most music. Being a woman is not a negative.
2. Continue to tell my boss about my love life.
She's one of my best friends, but my big mouth is asking for trouble, even when I share the tiniest thing about N. I'm beginning to think that she thinks I make bad decisions. It was one thing when I was with the Boyf, because we could both bitch about our LTRs (long-term relationships), but there's no way she can identify with what young single women go through in this city, whether I'm being good or, um, NOT being good.
3. Apologize for my feelings.
I will no longer say, "I'm sorry, but I want to be with you" or "I'm sorry that I've pushed too hard for exclusivity." No. If I fucking want to be with you, you should be grateful. No apologies necessary.
4. Keep feeling like I should be married or at least engaged.
Do I really want that? Do I really, honestly, want to be married and have to check in with someone nightly, like I did with the Boyf? Do I really want to have to justify my movie choices, my Sunday afternoon rituals, my drinking, my strength, to some dude? No. Plus: At least one of my high-school acquaintances is mommy-blogging. Mommy-blogging! I can't imagine anything I'd want to do less. I can't imagine a life I'd want less.
5. Be judgmental of myself and others.
If I accidentally get blasted, say, and hook up with, say, a Screenwriter who respects (or at least respectED) me, and I realize in the morning I'm over it and over him? Drunk-text N in a moment of weakness? Make out with a stranger in a dive bar? I'm moving on. No Scarlet Letter-esque emotional flogging, because it's a waste of time. I'm accepting it was Bad Idea Jeans for me at the time, and I'm saying, "Next!" Someone I know did blow at some party? Their choice. Their decision. Their body. If it doesn't involve me, it's none of my business. Next.
6. Accept freelance assignments that I hate.
Unless all the furniture I've randomly bought REALLY puts me into a financial hole, I'm going to value my limited free time above the fact that I can say I'm writing for this or that publication. Because, frankly, who cares? Only. Me. The rest of my friends would rather grab an afternoon beer with me than hear about my busy fucking schedule.